Loss
by Eden Evergreen
Summary: (VQL # 6) Beginning 1030 years post-manga... Vash discovers that even a high-security prison cell - one that he, personally, helped to design - is insufficient to prevent Knives from attempting to cause trouble. (Can't guarantee it's spoiler-free, sorry.)
1. Bluff

_I do not own Vash, Rem or Knives: they belong to the incomparable Yasuhiro Nightow._

_This tale begins 1030 years post-manga (different final battle and results than in the anime). Hopefully it should be able to stand alone. However, it is also a sequel to_ "Disquieting Days." :)

**Bluff**

The sand steamer was near enough that one could see May City without assistance. Vash stood on the deck, allowing the hot afternoon winds to blow his shoulder-length black hair out behind him. He liked the feel of the wind on his face, and in his hair.

A bandit prowling the outskirts of May city had grown into enough of a problem that they sent for a deputy marshal with a reputation for always capturing his target... alive. He smiled, and the fingers of his right hand touched the star-in-circle badge he wore on his vest under his new duster.

Under his shirt and pants, he wore his newest body armor. Strapped to his right hip and thigh was his trusty old revolver, though a more powerful firearm was concealed in his left forearm. He felt ready to deal with whatever might come his way as he pursued the robber.

None of the local lawmen or women had yet managed to overcome the current trouble-maker. The bandit and his gang had gotten into a habit of picking off the last few vehicles in a caravan, or attacking wanderers approaching the city for shopping or tourism.

Vash snickered at the thought of what many considered the main tourist attraction: the grave of one "Vash the Stampede." He recalled seeing newspaper reports of how all of the larger cities had fought over who would get the body he'd dressed in his own clothes, and left his identification on, when he found it recently shot in the desert. May had won that contest, approximately 950 years ago.

Vash still pitied the poor youth, shot down so young. It was possible the fellow was shot for looking so much like him. He would never know, beyond that those who shot him believed they had slain "Vash the Stampede." The lad had been dressed to emulate his own well-known attire, so it seemed likely that he would be content to rest under a grave with that name carved on the headstone.

Vash planned visit that grave while he was here. However, he meant to visit it as a mourner - not as a tourist.

Knowing he might be very busy for a few days, Vash started sending love to each of his children.

Young Rem Lumia Saverem returned love from her sheriff's job in New July.

Naomi Ranita Saverem, young Rem's younger twin, returned love from the Seeds village infirmary.

Nicholas Wolfwood Saverem returned love from his sheriff's job in December, where he also looked after the grave of the man for whom he'd been named.

Alex Vash Saverem, Nick's younger twin, returned love from where he was healing people after a minor factory accident near Juneora rock.

Sheryl Luida Saverem returned love from her classroom, where she taught the next generation of ordinary human children (including the local orphans) at the school in December.

Lina Michelle Saverem, Sheryl's younger twin, shared love from her sheriff's job in Kasted, where the lady for whom she was named had also served as sheriff centuries ago.

Bradley Kaite Saverem shared love from his sheriff office in Augusta.

Livio Carlos Saverem, Brad's younger twin, shared love from his sheriff office Octovarn.

Tessla Lumietta Saverem returned love from the college where she was finishing her first medical degree. Following in the steps of her mother, Alex and Naomi, Tessla wanted to be a healer. She wanted to make sure that nobody ever treated another person as the scientists had treated the poor girl she was named after.

Milly Meryl Saverem, Tessla's younger twin, just wanted to play with other children for now. Vash smiled at the endless enthusiasm in his youngest. Equally as sweet and energetic as the former insurance girl whose name she was given as her first name, she returned love from babysitting "Grandma" Rem's toddler-aged daughter, Ranita Shyla Reeve.

"Grandma" Rem was unable to feel or respond to his love at this distance, since she wasn't a plant. Vash sent his love to her anyway. He smiled. Rem met a good man about eight years ago, one of the Seeds Village's best engineers. They wed five years ago, and her second child was due soon.

That took care of all five sets of twins, and Rem. Vash extended love toward his wife.

Shyla did not respond. That was highly unusual. Vash hoped that no medical emergency had required her to focus on healing so intently that she would be unable to respond. This was the usual time for her infirmary shift, so it was possible she might be tending a patient with some extreme need.

People traveled great distances, in desperate hope that the rumor of the "angel healer" at Seeds village might be true. The rumor was old, though. Currently, there were four: though the children were wanted at other towns, and might eventually disperse.

Shyla's lack of response troubled him, but not greatly. He would try again later.

The sand steamer pulled into the port, and Vash patiently waited for his own turn to disembark. Once through the needful rigmarole, he reported to the nearest sheriff's office.

He reflexively glanced at the wanted posters, and inwardly sighed. Strange how roughly 200 years of being hunted, on and off, left one a bit on edge... even 800 years later!

"Hello," Vash said pleasantly to the bored-looking youth at the desk. "I'm Nate Saverem, Deputy Marshal." He displayed ID that backed up his words. "Nathaniel Vash Saverem" was the name written on the card. "I heard you folks have a bandit that you'd like a hand with getting into jail?"

The young man looked over his ID and nodded, but looked puzzled. "You must have been misinformed, friend," he said. "We've not had any bandits around here for almost 15 years."

Vash frowned. "Odd, I have papers here..." He pulled them from a pocket in his new brown duster, and showed them to the youthful deputy.

"Yep, that's the last one sure enough," he said. "But someone played with the date. That guy was shot down nearly 15 years ago, along with his entire gang."

Vash felt as if a fist of frozen iron gripped his insides. Someone had deliberately decoyed him here. He wished he could believe it nothing more than a prank, but his instincts were screaming otherwise.

"Sorry to have troubled you," Vash said politely, already beginning to move toward the door that led to the street.

"No trouble," the youth said pleasantly. "Enjoy your stay."

Vash strode purposefully out of the office, and back to the sand steamer. He purchased a ticket to retrace his steps back toward Seeds village. His visit to the grave bearing his own name, to mourn the nameless youth who actually lay beneath it, would have to wait. He'd mourned the lad when he put his own clothes on the body, so he refused to feel guilty for neglecting him.

The sand steamer would feel agonizingly slow, but it was the swiftest ride out of here. Today, Vash would take what he could get... and try to be thankful for it.

This location was well outside of radio range to the nearest Seeds outpost, too. His ear-radio would be no help for almost two days. Too many details, too conveniently falling into place... this false report could not have been an accident. Unfortunately, it also required too much effort to be a mere prank.

He tried again to send his love to Shyla, and again received no response. The frozen fist holding his vitals tightened its grip.

Vash both hoped and prayed he wouldn't be too late.

...

...

...

...

**Author's Note:**_Hopefully, this story should be able to stand alone. However, it is also a sequel to__ "Disquieting Days." __Prior to that tale comes (in chronological order):__ "Vash's Quiet Life"__ (1__st__),__ "Vash's Long Road to Home" __(2__nd__),__ "Rem Returns" __(3__rd__),__ "Vash Vindicated" __(4__th__) and__ "Shared Memories" __(4.5). I hope you will enjoy all of them that you choose to read._

_There's also an associated "free verse" poem titled__ "Too Late," __and a semi-associated collection of shorter stories,__ "Search for a Stampede."_

_ (Just in case anyone happens to be interested in reading any more of what I imagine might follow the manga's end.) _;-)

_There are also two companion tales to this series written by the highly talented_ "JasperK": "Stasis" _and_ "With This Ring." _Please give them a read, if you haven't already read them. Thanks!_ :)


	2. Called

I do not own Vash, Rem or Knives: they belong to the incomparable Yasuhiro Nightow.

**Called**

Vash clenched his jaw and tried not to snap at the security guard. The security protocols for approaching Knives' quarters were little changed from when he'd designed them, with the help of the local Sheriff and prison warden, ten years ago. Shortly thereafter, Knives had been brought here.

At that time, each check was considered prudent. It was believed that each item on the checklist could be quickly verified, and that the inconvenience would be minor. Today, those protocols felt like a terrible waste of time. Shyla was in there! He clenched his fist, and suppressed another urge to snap and cuss at the nervous clerk.

Knives had claimed he wasn't feeling well, and demanded a plant physician. Shyla had come, and all hell had broken loose. That was nearly four days ago.

The guards didn't know he was Knives' brother. They thought him only a conscientious deputy marshal, who'd escorted an excessively dangerous criminal to their facility.

They suspected, as others had done, that he was his own son because he'd kept "Vash" as his middle name when he acquired new ID after faking his own death. That suspicion conveniently explained away any little details that turned up suggesting he wasn't exactly a "standard issue" human.

However, they did know he was Shyla's husband.

"That cell is in lockdown," a woman in a supervisor's uniform appeared to say apologetically. "The automatic lockdown you helped establish kicked in four days ago. We have been unable to make it release."

"Let me see the computers, please," Vash said tensely. "I helped write those programs. Perhaps I can help disentangle them."

"Certainly," she replied. "This way, please."

He followed her, still feeling that icy grip around all of his essential internal parts. Shyla had not responded during the three and a half days it had taken him to get there.

Thankfully, the Seeds outpost he'd reached a day and a half ago had a shuttle that brought him here far more quickly than any other mode of travel could have. Yet it had still felt agonizingly slow.

Part of him wanted to form the arm cannon, and blast his way into there... but even if he still had enough power to do that, he would immediately fall dead. As a corpse, he would be of no help to his wife after the wall was breached.

No. He could never again use any capacity that required Plant energy. He shouldn't even let himself think of it, since it only added to his impatient frustration.

Vash sat at the indicated computer station, and began typing as rapidly as he could persuade his fingers to move. As expected, someone had tampered with the program.

Vash made corrections as swiftly as he dared, checking for traps and alarms as he went. His caution proved wise. He disarmed yet another trap that would have sent lethal gas into the chamber where Shyla lay helpless.

It seemed an endless eternity as he typed. Although it was brain work instead of physical, he felt like he was wrestling against someone. The deviously clever reprogramming, traps and alarms all had the feel of Knives' handiwork. Recognizing this did not help him to feel any better.

Damn. His brother must have tricked someone into giving him a printout of the program, and then making adjustments he'd designed. "Have you found the mole or moles yet?" Vash asked the supervisor, who still hovered anxiously nearby.

"Moles?"

"Knives must have persuaded at least one guard to assist him," he explained through clenched teeth, surprised and disappointed that the woman had failed to reach the same conclusion on her own. He'd thought she was intelligent enough for that. "If the ones who helped him meddle with this program are still around, we could have bigger problems than a locked cell."

Vash felt her gesture to two of the accompanying guards, and listened to the sounds indicating that they left the room. "This shall be looked into," she said grimly.

"Thank you," he said.

It took him another half hour, but he finally compelled the lock-down on Knives' cell to unlock. He immediately stood and sprinted down the hallway as swiftly as he could persuade his weary legs to carry him.

"Wait!" the woman said, but he was in no mood to be delayed further.

Vash had visited twice each year, partly to see if Knives was showing any signs of reconsidering his behavior or goals, though also to double-check that there were no security issues nor anything needful that he could supply.

Knives had never appreciated the efforts of Vash or the guards to make him comfortable. He'd only been furious at being contained. He didn't seem to grasp that his own behavior had made containing him an absolute requirement, simply for the safety of others.

Vash knew the problem was not that his brother was too stupid to understand. Instead, it was a conflict of perceptions.

Knives simply could not envision that anyone would fail to acknowledge his own imagined superiority, and bow to his every whim. He was always startled, perplexed, and annoyed when that failed to happen.

Knives' arrogance had made it impossible for him to perceive that he could be mistaken, or do anything imperfectly. Eventually, his only redeeming quality had been the fragile remnant of his love for Vash. Sadly, even that was badly twisted into a desire to dominate the one creature in the entire universe, outside of himself, that Knives cared about at all.

Vash opened himself enough to sense the slightest emotions from nearby plants, but sensed nothing. Again, he felt the icy grip on his insides tighten.

...

A terrible sight met Vash's eyes as he rounded the corner to where he could see into Knives' quarters. Five bodies lay sprawled on the floor. Three wore guard uniforms. All of the guards were cut and dismembered severely enough that, after four days, there was no hope for any of them to be restored to their loved ones intact.

Knives' shriveled body also lay there, his hands formed into claws. He looked as if, right up until the end, he was still trying to grasp things that he could not hold.

Knives' corpse looked exactly how every other plant looked that had died from exceeding their own energy supply. The twisted, black-haired corpse had shriveled and almost collapsed in upon itself. All of his vitality and all of his beauty were gone forever. His face could be recognized, but it had become as hideous as his heart had grown.

Vash absorbed those details peripherally, including Knives' complete lack of clothing. His only interest, right now, was his wife.

Near to Knives' dead body, though not quite touching it, Shyla lay collapsed like a broken doll. She still breathed, and Vash's sigh of "Thank God!" was sincerely intended as a prayer of gratitude.

Her fingers were twitching, and her eyes were rolled up yet still partly open. Her mouth was also open and twitching, as if she were attempting to scream. A streak of black hair, two finger-widths or so in size, ran like a dark river among her golden tresses.

(Shyla! It's Vash,) he sent his thoughts to her, along with all of his love for her. (Hold on, I'm coming!)

Tears welled up in his eyes as he wrestled with the mechanism to get into the cell. She was not responding, and that made the frozen iron fist clutching his vitals tighten its grip still further.

"Here, let me," the supervisor's voice said gently from beside his shoulder.

He nodded, wordlessly. He took a step away from the mechanism to stand crouched and ready to dash in the instant the door opened the slightest crack.

That crack appeared, and he launched himself at the door and was through it almost immediately. He had to wait, what seemed hours and days -but could only have been a few minutes- until the second door unlatched to allow him entry.

The next thing he knew, he was kneeling beside Shyla with his right hand resting gently on her cheek. He wanted to take her into his arms, but knew not what injuries were holding her so still. He would not aid Knives in harming her by moving her incorrectly.

"Bring medics!" he shouted, still blinking back tears.

(Shyla! It's Vash,) he sent his thoughts to her again. He also shared all of his love for her, again. (Hold on, Mayfly, I'm here. You're safe now. You can wake up...)

This time, there was a slight response. He could feel her fear, and hope, as if she were somehow trapped far away... or somewhere very deep within herself... and was unable to reply more clearly.

"What has he done to you?" Vash asked, anguished. He again enveloped her with his love, and this time there was a definite response from her, coming from somewhere deep down inside.

She knew he was here, though it seemed she could not respond more fully. It also appeared that he needed to touch her for her to hear him, or feel his love, or respond to him at all... and her responses were consistently entirely wordless and emotional.

"I'll get you back," he vowed, ignoring the tears streaming shamelessly down his face.


	3. Four Days Ago

I do not own Vash, Rem or Knives: they belong to the incomparable Yasuhiro Nightow.

**Four Days Ago...**

"There's a message on the radio for Shyla," a nurse said.

"For me?" Shyla was surprised. "Is Vash ok?" She reached out for Vash's emotions, and found him untroubled. He felt like he was either asleep, or else "lost" deep in thought. At this distance, it was difficult to tell the difference, so she let him be.

"It's not about Vash, nor is it from him," the nurse said.

Shyla sighed thoughtfully. "I'll go there as soon as I'm finished here," she said. "It should only take another minute or two."

The nurse nodded and withdrew.

Shyla turned to her patient. "You won't like hearing this," she said gently to the young baker's assistant. "Unfortunately, your stomach ache comes from eating too many sweets without enough nourishing food to balance that and fulfill your body's needs."

...

Shyla arrived at the main communications center, and asked politely where she should go to receive her message.

"They wouldn't leave a message," Robert, a radio man, replied. "They're still on." He tipped his head in a manner that invited her to follow, and led the way. "Here," he said when they arrived.

"Thank you," Shyla said warmly. She'd helped him enter this world. She still recalled the joy and wonder on his mother's face as she held him in her arms for the first time.

He nodded and left.

Shyla turned to the radio operator in that room. "How may I be of assistance?" she asked.

"It's the warden from the Knives' prison," Wanda replied. "Apparently, Knives is claiming that he needs a doctor. Not surprisingly, he doesn't want any human to touch him." Her mouth made a wry expression.

Shyla rolled her eyes. "Well, we expected something that ridiculous from Knives sooner or later," she said. "Let me talk with the warden, and I'll see what I can do."

She was not at all willing to send any of her children there. She would absolutely not consider sending any of the more tenderhearted ones, who were studying medical care.

...

"Thank you so very much for coming," the warden said, when she greeted Shyla upon her arrival that evening. "He's been clamoring for a medic so loudly that the guards assigned to watch his room are at their wits' end."

"And, naturally, they look to you for answers," Shyla said, smiling and returning the woman's handshake.

"Good Lord, they sure do!" she said, laughing.

"Before I see him," Shyla said, "I want to eat."

The warden looked puzzled.

"He's up to something," Shyla said. "I can feel it. Knives will recognize me, when he sees me. We ... did not exactly part friends. If he succeeds in taking me hostage, for example, it might be easier for me to think clearly on a full stomach."

The warden smiled, looking relieved. "Of course, it is past dinner time. And you have a point about thinking more clearly on a full stomach," she said. "The guards assigned to protect you should be adequate, but dealing with Knives isn't easy. He's always trying to play head games with anyone who wishes to communicate with him. The cafeteria is this way..."

...

Shyla chose her menu carefully. She needed a high liquid content, since a body could survive without food longer than without water. She also needed things that would not burn away immediately from stress, so proteins and fats. She also wanted nutritious food, and generous portions.

Thankfully, the guards' café was well stocked with a wide variety of options. She chose according to her anticipated needs, and then sat down to eat slowly and enjoy the respite.

She was not looking forward to facing Knives again. Even with Vash's shared childhood memories of him, she could not love him the way Vash did then... and still does. She was too horrified by Knives' current and comparatively recent behavior to see past it to the little boy he had once been. Shyla could not as easily recall the young boy with a heart that had once been nearly as gentle as Vash's.

Perhaps, like Vash, she could one day be more forgiving toward Knives. Unfortunately, she'd not yet achieved that. She could forgive his attack upon herself, sort of, but not his threat against her children. That kept his present personality foremost of her memory. She felt guilty for her inability to think past his sins and care for him as Vash did.

Shyla suspected that gentle little boy Vash remembered was dead inside the man of the same name. Vash still hoped, though, bless him. She had a terrible premonition, from the hour she first saw Knives, that his life would not end well.

She had a similar premonition about the upcoming meeting. That premonition weighed heavily upon her soul. She could feel enough emotional echoes from her prospective patient to know that he had something "up his sleeve" besides just his arm. When dealing with someone as malevolent as Knives, that was cause for serious concern.

A female guard came and sat across from her at the table. Shyla nodded politely, and continued eating.

"Are you the doctor who came to look after our most famous inmate?" she asked, before taking her first mouthful of food.

"If the inmate in question is Millions Knives, then yes," Shyla said, and took another bite.

"That's the one!" the guard said, smiling. "He sure is one of a kind."

Shyla swallowed. "I suppose that depends on how you define his 'kind,'" she said amiably. It disturbed her deeply that one of those charged with watching Knives for the safety of others seemed to admire him.

"He's so brilliant," the guard began, "and he's seen so many things. He says he could make wings, and fly! Wouldn't it be awesome to have a child like that?"

Shyla made a mental note to report this woman's infatuation to the warden before attending her patient. "Yes," she said, "It is. I have ten children like that."

The guard laughed. "Yeah, right," she said. "Most doctors don't have such a ridiculous sense of humor!"

Shyla smiled, resisting a temptation to generate and spread her wings. Clearly, word had not spread that the doctor attending Knives was also a plant. Apparently her children were unknown also, which did not displease her. She resumed eating in silence as the woman prattled on about how much she admired Knives.

From listening, Shyla learned that Knives was showing a strong interest in becoming a father. Another report the warden needed, and an additional warning to herself to be cautious. Maybe having her wings ready wasn't such a bad idea after all...

...

After a brief meeting with the warden, who seemed mildly inclined to disbelieve Shyla's concerns, she arrived at Knives' cell with three bodyguards. She prepared herself to spread her wings if needed.

Other guards, not assigned as her bodyguards, began to operate the mechanisms that would permit the four to enter into his cell.

"The doctor's here," one of them called.

Knives sat with his back to the clear wall. When he heard the news he stood, turned, and looked at her. His eyes narrowed. A humorless smile twisted his features. Then he moved toward his bed, and began stripping.

There were some general similarities between him and Vash in the shape of their faces, their height, the build or shape of their bodies, and their coloring.

However, they were polar opposites in almost every other way. Knives had honed his body more toward muscular bulk. Vash focused more on agility and flexibility. Knives was hard-hearted and xenophobic; her husband was tender-hearted and kind toward absolutely everyone - regardless of their species, race, gender, lifestyle, etc.

Knives was a narcissist; Vash was humble, almost to a fault. Knives was selfish; Vash was giving. Knives was cold and calculating, always seeking means to benefit himself; Vash applied his genius through his love, and continually sought ways to protect everyone while trying to make this resource-poor desert world a better place for all of its inhabitants.

Shyla tried to remain calm. Her prior encounter with this... in-law... had been extremely unpleasant. She would have preferred to never see him again.

She tried to brace herself, to be prepared for anything he might attempt. If he was truly in need of a doctor, she would do her best to tend him... for Vash's sake. On the other hand, if he was shamming for some dark purpose, she would leave.

It should be that simple. She hoped and prayed that it would be _exactly_ that simple.

The doors opened, and she walked in. Knives was lying on his bed, entirely naked. She hoped this encounter would not go in the direction _that_ suggested. She felt a mental tendril nudging at the barriers she had up around her mind.

She swatted it away, firmly, and closed her mind off even more tightly. She made a mental note to herself to thank Vash for sharing the memories of how he'd learned to guard his mind against Knives. She also pushed her emotions down deep inside of herself, where Knives could not reach them - another lesson learned from Vash's memories.

She pulled a chair near enough to speak with him in a normal tone of voice, but well out of reach. "You sent for a doctor," she said as calmly as possible. "What's troubling you?"

Something about the expression in Knives' eyes reminded her of a snake coiling to strike. His emotions felt similar to that impression, also. He stretched slowly and thoroughly. He seemed to be going out of his way to show off his body.

It was not an entirely unpleasant spectacle, but he lacked Vash's catlike grace. Seeing him unclothed and stretching wasn't something she enjoyed in the same way that she enjoyed the times when all the blankets slipped off Vash. When Vash was naked and stretching... her heart beat a little faster at that thought, before she pushed it aside.

The visual similarities between the brothers were striking, and mildly intriguing. However, Shyla was not drawn to Knives like she was drawn to Vash, whom she loved as dearly as life itself.

"Enjoying the view?" Knives asked. His voice was throaty, suggestive. "I expect you've been aching to see an unmarred male plant's body from the day you first saw my brother."

"Not really," she said, unimpressed. She patiently swatted aside another mental probe. He sure was stubborn! She sighed inside. "The only joy I gain from seeing your body is the clear proof that you have no weapon concealed upon your person. So, what hurts?"

"That you are so cold to me, little sister," he said, attempting yet another mental probe. "This view must be an improvement on my brother's disfigured body."

Shyla again felt as if she were interacting with a snake ready to strike. Again, she resisted his effort at her mental barriers. "He's _not_ disfigured," she said firmly. "If you think that he ever was disfigured, that has changed. I healed his scars before we married."

Knives swung his feet off his bed and onto the floor. He sat with his knees wide, facing her, and smiling that mirthless smile under his cold serpent-like eyes. Those same ice-cold eyes narrowed as he looked her up and down in a measuring manner.

Shyla stood and took a few steps backward, away from him.

"You can't say he's got more to offer you than I do," Knives insinuated.

Actually, she could. However, Shyla was disinclined to be that crass or to risk provoking him as much as an honest comparison was likely to do.

"Did you need a doctor or not?" she said, trying to sound bored as she backed away another step. It wasn't the first time a patient who thought himself excessively handsome had tried something like this. It probably wouldn't be the last. She sighed inside again, and reminded herself how dangerous this patient was. She swatted aside yet another pesky mental probe.

"I need a son," he said, still in that throaty, suggestive voice. He seemed untroubled by having all of his mental efforts, thus far, swatted aside so thoroughly.

"Prostitution is not in my job description," she said briskly. While careful to keep an eye on him, she began to move away toward the only door out of the cell. If this was his only purpose, she would not waste any more time with him.

He laughed mirthlessly. "Oh, I shall use you more thoroughly than that," he said. "We shall have plenty of uninterrupted time together."

He sprang, but she dodged swiftly enough to elude his grasp. The daily exercises with Vash, and the practice with the light guns, had honed her reflexes well. She knew she couldn't match Knives' strength if it matched his brother's, but she might exceed his agility. She hoped that would be enough.

She edged away from him, keeping her back against a wall, and thereby hoping to give the guards a clear shot. She turned loose her automatic defense feathers, so that if a bullet strayed toward her she would not be harmed.

One of the guards shouted a warning, but Knives never turned his attention away from Shyla. His cold serpent's eyes watched her every move, with that equally cold smile hovering beneath them. His mental probes increased, both in strength and in number.

"You appear to be very healthy," he said. "No wonder you can produce healthy children. You have given enough to my brother. Now you have the opportunity to give to me."

She glared at him, unwilling to dignify his comments with any response. She wanted to spit at him, but that would be too close to lowering herself to his level. She continued edging toward the door along the wall and resisting his efforts against her mind.

He lunged, she dodged, and the guards apparently could not get a clear shot because he somehow managed to stay between her and them. Shyla kept moving, hoping to provide the guards with the opportunity they needed.

Knives lunged toward her again, this time catching a wrist. He still stood between her and the guards, so they couldn't get a clear shot. They were still shouting at him, but he still ignored them.

Shyla tried to twist free, but he pushed her captured wrist against the nearest wall. This allowed him to yank at the front of her shirt, which tore off a few buttons and uncovered part of the gray leather-like armor that she wore beneath it.

She reflexively swung her other hand to knock his prying hand away from her body, and he captured her other wrist. He pushed both of her wrists against the wall, a bit over her head, and leaned his body against hers.

Shyla glared at him, trying to suppress her fear. "You won't succeed," she said. "I won't cooperate."

"Anything Vash has should also belong to me," he said. "If he won't agree to share, then hurting you will hurt him. He deserves that punishment - and more - for not sharing himself with me, or sharing you with me, from the beginning. You will provide me with the son I want. It's up to you how much you enjoy the process." His smile was predatory, as were his mental assaults.

Shyla stomped on his bare foot with her boot heel, hard. His hold loosened only slightly as he yelped in surprise at the pain, but it was enough. She twisted away from his grasp. Unfortunately, that motion left him positioned between her and the door out of his cell.

Bang! One of the guards got a clear shot, and hit him in the shoulder.

The other guards also tried to deal with him, but a blade emerged from one forearm.

"How _dare_ you!" he shouted, sounding outraged.

He sliced at them until all three stopped moving. It happened so quickly that Shyla hadn't yet succeeded in circling around to the exit before he'd finished dispatching the guards.

Those poor men! Her heart ached for the slain guards, and for their families. She dared not lose concentration, though, since he'd not relented in the mental assaults. She tried to move faster. Her fingertips brushed against her empty holster.

It had seemed wisdom for the one person who would have to be within Knives' reach to wear no weapon that he could claim and use. Now she wished she had her gun, for she would use it. She wasn't sure if she would have enough skill to use it as Vash did, only to disable. However, she was now reasonably certain that she could pull the trigger against Knives... even if it might result in his death.

He came after her again, and she dodged again. The game of cat and mouse lasted for several hours while alarms clamored loudly outside the cell. She saw guards wrestling with the controls from time to time, but none seemed able to enter. That suggested she might be unable to leave, also. That thought sent a chill up her spine, but she suppressed all reactions. She had to concentrate on fending off Knives' mental attacks while giving nothing he could use against her.

She cautiously circled around the cell, dodging Knives' efforts to pin her, hour after hour. She knew he would not hesitate to fulfill his threats, if she allowed him to capture her. He wanted to use her to hurt Vash. It never occurred to him that using her that way would hurt her, too. If such thoughts had entered his mind, the concept wouldn't matter to him.

Again, the extreme differences between her brother-in-law and her husband were evident.

Hours later, Knives shrugged and lay down on his bed. "You'll come to me," he said with mocking confidence. "No female can resist for long. You're already weakening." He smiled, closed his eyes, and then he seemed to sleep.

The light shining through the windows suggested the suns had both fully risen when he lay down to rest.

Shyla waited, at least an hour, as the shadows from the barred windows moved upon the walls of Knives' cell. He still seemed to sleep. He neither moved, beyond breathing, nor attacked her mind.

She quietly slipped off her boots, and padded as silently as she could to the door. There, she made a quick attempt to see if the security code she'd been given would allow her to leave the cell and make good her own escape.

Suddenly, Knives caught her waist and forehead from behind. "You will give me what you have given my brother," he hissed into her ear. "I _will_ have sons of my own."

"Never!" she said, and tried to scream.

She felt his mind surrounding and trying to overpower hers, much more strongly than any of the prior attacks. From Vash's shared memories, she recognized what he was doing: Knives was attempting to compel a co-integration between himself and her.

She wrenched her head forward and then slammed it backward with all her strength, but he'd somehow detected her intent and had his own head out of the way just in time. Damn.

He successfully suppressed her ability to move, in spite of her best efforts. Her ability to feel an emotion strongly enough to be "overheard" by other plants was also silenced. The hand at her waist moved to try undoing her clothing and the armor over her chest, while the hand over her forehead moved to pin her arms.

"Domina didn't fight this hard," he observed casually, and she could feel that this amused and intrigued him. "It is possible that I may enjoy you, for your own sake, after all..." Again, she heard his mirthless laughter.

She fought him with all her strength... and power. He wasn't only using plant abilities, he was using plant _power_. It hurt to resist him, both physically and mentally, partly because he was somehow pulling off her body's power and using it against her.

Her body trembled from the intense pain caused by his mind or the way he was draining her power to fuel himself. She was compelled to ignore that pain to the best of her ability. She had to focus on pushing Knives out of her mind, for she perceived that as the greater threat.

She felt his narrowly pointed blade tip prick her skin near the base of her skull, and very shortly afterward... she lost all control over her body.

(No!) her mind screamed. It had happened too quickly to even try sending a distress emotion to Vash. She tried now, but her mind still seemed to be trapped somewhere deep within herself... thanks to Knives' mental oppression.

Her thoughts grew disoriented as she felt his blade again, deeper. She could picture a brain, and knew that one place helped with talking. She could no longer think of the words to describe that, though. She couldn't even think of the words to express her annoyance that she'd forgotten to consider that possibility and guard against it.

She felt another surge of power from Knives as he laughed mirthlessly yet again, but she never learned what he meant to do. His astonishment and terror she did feel, as he realized that he had exceeded his own limits and killed himself.

Shyla kept focusing all of her efforts on pushing him away, with more desperation than formerly.

She felt him try to heal himself, and then try to pull more energy from her. His hands both moved to her head. She resisted desperately, fearing he would drag her into death with him. He could no longer be healed, even if she'd wanted to try.

She felt his panic as his body continued systematically shutting down while he was powerless to prevent or even slow the process. Though internally it seemed long, as she felt him expire, objectively it must have happened very swiftly. He died too quickly to let out any loud emotional messages that Vash or other plants might hear.

Knives' body fell one way, and hers another.

She was dimly aware that she still breathed. That awareness faded in and out.

Shyla clung desperately to the belief that Vash would come. She pictured his face, and loved him. She only had to hold on until he arrived...


	4. Others

I do not own Vash, Rem or Knives: they belong to the incomparable Yasuhiro Nightow.

**Others**

Shyla lay helpless, for time without measure.

Pictures and feelings ran through her mind, but she knew not what to call any of them.

There was awareness of a risk of ending. Liquid, important. Images of drinking plenty before coming into this place where that other was. That other, cold, dangerous... that other was gone.

There were images of a different other, incredibly dear. With that picture came images of many more others, including smaller others - also very dear, yet somehow not quite as dear as that unique other who meant more than anything.

She tried to find that dearest other, again and again, but could not. She tried finding the little others, but could not sense them either.

She couldn't even cry.

She concentrated, and became aware of something going Ta TUM, Ta TUM, Ta TUM, Ta TUM.

She remembered being near the dearest other, hearing that. She remembered joy with the Ta TUM Ta TUM's. She pictured that face again, and loved.

She craved that other, _her_ other. She loved that other.

She tried to find her other, but could not.

All faded away.

...

Her other had seemed near, but was not. Sadness. Only a sleep picture, not real.

Pictures of her other formed within. Again, she could not find her other.

It was harder, harder to see the pictures and harder to try to find her other. Pictures blended into each other. Pictures became nothing.

Fear of ending, without her other.

Fading...

...

Again, pictures of her other formed. Pictures of the smaller others would not form, they faded away. Her other, those pictures were clear. All other pictures eluded her. She tried to find her other again, but it was harder than before.

There was something about that other, her other. She loved; she craved. She must find that other. She must love that other.

Harder and harder she tried to find him. The Ta TUM, Ta TUM, Ta TUM, Ta TUM changed to Ta-TUM Ta-TUM Ta-TUM Ta-TUM...

Ending? She felt very sad. She had no craving for ending.

A touch? Or only another fading picture?

Her other!

She tried to reach for him with her hope and fear, and with her love.

Love, from her other. She loved him, again, but then fading came though she fought to stay.

...

When she faded back in, she felt her other. She loved him. Her other loved.

Fear faded.

Distant, faint echoes from her body began to reach her. She felt her other place his forehead against hers. Suddenly, she understood. She would try.

It was hard, so hard. Pushing, can't... no! Not fading! Get closer to her other, inside not outside.

She kept at it, and eventually she reached the part of his mind that he'd opened for her. She mentally stumbled through, and felt his mental equivalent of catching her in his arms.

(Mayfly... Shyla,) his thoughts came with many mental caresses and great warmth. He loved, and she drank it in.

She felt so weary. She loved him, and craved rest.

(They can't find what's wrong with you, or how you've been hurt.) He felt love and fear.

She understood. She struggled to catch pictures about that, and offer them. Then she felt fading again.

(Thank you.) He eased her out of his mind as she faded. She didn't want to go, but she faded too fast to hold on.

...

When she faded in again, she felt her other's love. She loved. She felt his love and relief.

Then ... was that little others? Yes! Dear little others... she loved them, and felt them love.

Fear from her other? Ah. Her other loved. She forgot fear, and loved.

She faded out again, but she was no longer afraid.


	5. Healing Efforts

I do not own Vash, Rem or Knives: they belong to the incomparable Yasuhiro Nightow.

**Healing Efforts**

Naomi had listened patiently while her father grumbled about how much fast talking it had taken to persuade the medics at the prison. At least he had been successful. They had finally allowed him take Shyla home. He'd seen in their eyes that burning scientific curiosity that would put Shyla in greater danger than she already was.

She couldn't blame him for being upset. She would have been, too. In fact, she was!

Thankfully, he got her away without a fight. If he had dawdled, or left and returned, they might have resisted him more strongly. Snatching her away at once, before they had time to think of her as their experimental subject, had aided his arguments.

It had also helped that they had Knives' corpse to investigate. Hopefully, that should keep them busy for awhile.

She knew her father had buried his inner pains regarding Knives' death, and of what his brother was attempting when he died. He was probably also burying a guilt that he'd not claimed Knives' body for burial. Poor Papa... it must be horrible having a brother like that, one you couldn't stop loving no matter what he did.

Unfortunately, Vash couldn't possibly win both battles. He'd been compelled to choose: either to claim a live wife, or else a dead brother. Naomi knew her father made the correct decision. She also knew it would haunt him that he'd found no way to claim both, possibly as long as he lived. She wished she knew a way to comfort him.

It was the first time she had ever seen or felt her father being afraid. The way he cradled her mother in his arms, the desperate expression on his face... she'd sometimes seen that in other patients she'd helped heal.

Never, not even in her worst nightmares, had she imagined seeing her own parents thus.

On the shuttle trip home, her mother had waked barely enough to share the memory of her injury with her father. Armed with the information he'd gained and shared with her, Naomi knew where to look.

She found the damage where she expected; though it was worse than she'd initially let herself think possible. This was going to take time. Knives had severely damaged the voluntary muscle control and speech areas of her mother's brain.

He'd also damaged most of her nerves that ran voluntary functions. They would have to help her grow new nerves to control her muscles. After that, Shyla would have to learn how to work her body with the new nerves.

She looked at her younger siblings, Alex and Tessla.

(Where should we begin?) she wondered. (Speech, or muscle control? Both are so very important...)

Grandma Rem was here, with her newborn in her arms. Her siblings who had taken jobs outside Seeds village were returning as quickly as they could, and should all arrive here by tomorrow or the next day. Those who still lived in the village were all in the room.

(Speech,) Alex suggested. He glanced at their father, anxiously hovering over their mother's still body. (He needs to be able to talk with her.)

Tessla nodded. (She can help us, teach us to do this better, if she can use words again.)

Naomi smiled. (Speech it shall be, then.)

Shyla's bed had been taken to one of the orb-sisters who said she had surplus energy they could use to heal her.

(We are ready, father.)

(What must I do?) he asked.

There was such anguish in his feelings that accompanied his thoughts. Even though he must be suppressing a great deal, it was enough that Naomi nearly cried.

(Take one of her hands. We will need to move our hands over her head.)

Vash adjusted his position as instructed, though he displayed some reluctance at moving his hand away from her face. He held Shyla's hand and watched. Grandma Rem moved beside him, toward Shyla's legs, and laid a hand on his shoulder. He smiled at her briefly, and gently squeezed her hand with his artificial hand. Then he returned his attention to Shyla.

Grandma Rem did not leave his side. Her hand slipped off his shoulder to around his waist, and her head leaned on his shoulder. Her newborn biological son, named after her favorite foster son, slept quietly in her other arm.

Naomi had always known that her father loved her, and all 9 of her siblings, very deeply. She'd felt it many times, when he shared that love with them. However, the love he had for their mother went beyond what he had for them and Grandma Rem.

Young Tessla leaned her back and shoulders against the orb, and the orb-sister pressed her palm against Tessla's shoulders from the other side of the glass. Naomi and Alex took Tessla's hands with their left hands, and then placed their right hands on Shyla's head.

They all closed their eyes, and Naomi felt plant energy flowing among them. She began to focus her thoughts on the speech controls of her mother's brain. Alex would assist, and together they would make all needful repairs, a little at a time.

...

...

(Thank you,) Vash thought to the orb sister. (This means everything to us.)

(I love Shyla too,) came her response.

If he'd not needed to touch Shyla just then, he'd have walked over and put his own hand on the orb. The sister within seemed to sense that, because she looked toward him and smiled briefly before returning her attention to Tessla.

He felt healing energy flowing through Shyla's body, and felt better himself. She would recover, even if it took multiple sessions and many long days. She would recover! Today, that was the most important thing in the world.

Naomi's thoughts interrupted his musings. (He attacked most of her voluntary muscle control, and damaged her nervous system badly. We can't fix all of this tonight. I'm sorry, Father.)

(All that matters is for her to keep getting better,) Vash thought in return, directing his thoughts to all three of the young healers. He shared love and gratitude with his children. (Thank you, all of you. I can't do this for her, else I would.)

(We don't want to lose either of you,) Alex's thought came with his own love. (The price of any attempt for you to heal her comes far too high.)

The other two affectionately agreed, and Vash felt moisture in his eyes. (I pray 'tis never needed,) he thought to them. (You are all so precious to me! The thought of any of you being hurt...)

(We'll be careful with ourselves, too,) Naomi gently assured him.

(She won't be able to speak today,) Alex thought sadly. (But she should be able to use some words when she thinks.)

(Every little bit helps, and is appreciated,) Vash responded.

He felt agreement from his other children present. The healers had enough to worry about, without feeling guilty that they were unable to do more.

A warmth and inner smile was shared among all wakeful family members present.

He overheard the orb sister offering more energy, but Tessla responding that they only wanted surplus energy. They would rather wait than hurt her. He felt the gratitude that sentiment triggered, and then the orb sister withdrew deeper into her orb again.

He waited patiently, watching Shyla's face, hoping she might wake sooner instead of later. He felt some power building in Alex, and put his left hand on his son's wrist.

(No,) he thought as firmly as he possibly could under the circumstances. (I don't want you getting black hair, too.)

Alex stared back defiantly. Aqua eyes met aqua eyes, equally determined. However, thankfully, Alex respected his father's wisdom. Eventually he bowed his head, and then nodded. The build-up began to cool down.

Shyla's eyelids fluttered, and then opened. She looked at each of them with great warmth and gratitude. They responded in kind, and caressed her face and hands. Even Grandma Rem let go of Vash (not the newborn) long enough to smile at Shyla and squeeze her forearm.

...

It took three weeks' supply of surplus orb-sister energy before the damage Knives had done to Shyla was all repaired. During the first few days, it seemed like she gained a few more black hairs each day.

Thankfully, that process of blackening hair stopped when the major repairs were completed. She was probably helping them from her side, or at least that was everyone's best guess. Shyla never would say.

Shyla never spent so much as a single second without at least one family member by her side. Even the ones who had jobs elsewhere had obtained permission from their employers and returned to be near her as she recovered.

Vash's heart swelled with love and pride for his family. Were he a weaker soul, his heart might have burst from the abundance of emotion.

Shyla was very weak. She tired very quickly. But she could again think and speak and move.

All was right in Vash's world. Rem and his children were all near, and Shyla was well on the road to becoming herself again.

He bowed his head in a silent prayer of thanksgiving.


	6. Worries

I do not own Vash, Rem or Knives: they belong to the incomparable Yasuhiro Nightow.

**Worries**

Naomi heard a minor crash coming from her mother's room, followed by a softly spoken "Damn!"

She hurried through the doorway to see her mother looking unhappily at a broken ceramic mug. She continued to the broom closet and fetched the broom and dustpan.

(I'm sorry,) Shyla's thought came gently, with love and emotional apology.

"You won't improve at speaking if you keep avoiding it," Naomi reminded her gently. "Single-syllable swear words don't count!"

She could feel her mother's blush. "I han... had not meant to say that," she pronounced carefully.

"I know," Naomi said. "Not the best thing to say, but at least you're speaking again." She smiled in a way she hoped would be encouraging as she shared love with her mother.

"I awways ... always... heard that doctors make worst patients," Shyla said. "I din ... didn't... want to be like that."

Naomi finished sweeping up the broken mug and gently laid one hand over her mother's. "Let us pamper you for a bit. You've cared for us so much, for so many years. Now it's your turn."

"I can't enjoy it," Shyla said sadly. "I can bawl ... barely talk."

"And you know as well as I do that will get better," Naomi said. "It just takes time and practice."

"Time runs away," Shyla quoted slowly and carefully. "It can't be made to stay."

"Aye," Naomi said. "Dad will be off work soon, and you know he'll be coming straight here just like he does every night. Shall I help you with anything before he comes?"

"Is there time for a bath?"

Naomi raised an eyebrow. "Just what bodily functions were you thinking about testing?" she asked in an insinuating tone.

Shyla blushed deeply from her collar bones to the tips of her ears. "Forget," she said, shaking her head.

Naomi laughed. Her mother and father were completely comfortable with each other. However, given that Shyla had been a doctor so long, her extreme embarrassment anytime someone mentioned anything about physical intimacy between the two of them was always mildly surprising. It was also far too great a temptation to leave entirely alone.

"To finish before he arrives," Naomi said more practically, "We'll have to hurry. I'll see if Alex will try to run interference and keep him busy for a few minutes, too."

She put away the broom and dustpan, closed the door, and went to her mother's bed. She pulled back all the blankets, gently disengaged the IV's, and carried her to the bathroom.

...

As she assisted her mother with the bath, she felt Alex's frustration with trying to delay their father. Naomi knew her mother could feel it, too. She couldn't help chuckling.

(I didn't want your father to see me like this, not yet.) Shyla thought. (I just don't like to smell sick.)

"I know," Naomi said out loud, trying to encourage her mother to speak again. Shyla could think in words just fine, but getting her mouth to cooperate was taking longer.

Shyla was still very clumsy with her arms and hands, and they'd only begun attempts to help her re-learn walking this morning. It would likely take a year or more before her body was back under control at all close to how well she could control herself prior to her injuries.

(I can't delay him much longer,) Alex warned.

Shyla solved the dilemma for them. (Dearest Vash,) she thought to Vash, though pointedly including both Naomi and Alex, (I was stinking because of exercise attempts from earlier today. I wanted to smell clean when you came. I can't be sure my body would work in all the ways you'd want it to, if you saw me like this. Please, let me finish washing and be presentable when you arrive?)

(He's blinking, and his cheeks look sunburned,) Alex thought to them. They all knew it meant he was blushing, but that gave a clear picture of exactly how far Vash's blush went.

Naomi suppressed a snicker. Their dear father, also, seemed inclined to grow embarrassed when his private interactions with their mother came up in conversation. Though amusing, it was somehow also endearing in both of them.

(Thanks for the warning,) Vash thought to them, with great warmth of affection.

Alex reported that Vash had stopped trying to walk toward the infirmary, and was standing stiffly talking about any random thing that came to mind.

(Please hurry,) her mother's gently sad thoughts whispered in her mind. (He's hurting more than he lets on, and the comfort he craves most I can't give him until I get better.)

(Don't do it just for him,) Naomi thought. This was too private for external words, where someone might overhear. (You're more likely to be able to do it thoroughly when you want it, too.)

(My heart already wants it,) Shyla replied. (My body needs to catch up again, that's all.)

She felt and saw her mother's blush, again including her face, ears, and neck. It looked likely to spread further, but Naomi went back to washing her hair and talked lightly about other matters. That successfully distracted both of them from further embarrassment.

There was something awkward, even as a doctor, about discussing certain things with one's own parents in too much detail.

...

Naomi gently carried her mother back to her bed. She did look and smell better after being washed and dressed in clean hospital pajamas. Her hair was still damp, but otherwise Shyla was ready to see her husband.

Naomi let him into the room, and then excused herself and firmly shut the door behind her. They needed some private time. She hoped her mother wouldn't overtax herself trying to do things her body wasn't quite ready to do again yet, but they were adults and she had to try to trust that they'd not do anything too impulsive or foolish.

But she could also feel what her mother sensed, if she tried. Her father was hurting, worse than she'd ever felt before. He had warned them about Knives, his brother. He and their mother had taught them to guard their minds so that he couldn't trouble them or harm them.

Vash had never permitted them to enter the prison when he visited Knives, twice each year. He often brought the whole family to that town for a vacation, but he always went in to see his brother alone.

Naomi was distracted from her musings as she detected something behind her. The warmth that leaked out of her mother's infirmary room was incredible in its strength and depth. She found herself hoping that one day she would find someone who loved her that much, too.

It could make life more pleasant, to be loved like that. Until then, she'd continue to enjoy the love of her parents and siblings.

She wondered briefly if there was an unmarried male plant, other than her brothers, that she could hope to meet. Finding that with a human, who would die so soon, might be more pain than it was worth.

For the moment, though, she was reassured. Both parents contained their emotions very tightly, when they got physically intimate. The fact that so much warmth was leaking meant they weren't getting too active.

Hopefully her mother was finding ways to comfort her father. It did hurt to feel him hurting so very much over the death of his brother.

...

Four months passed before Naomi, as lead physician, permitted Shyla to return home. After the first month, Young Rem, Nicholas, Sheryl, Lina, Brad and Livio had needed to return to their respective jobs, scattered all over No Man's Land.

Thankfully, to Naomi's way of thinking, Alex, Tessla and Milly were still nearby to help her prevent their mother from overdoing herself into any kind of relapse.

The homecoming party was small but joyful. Shyla was able to walk in by leaning on Vash's arm. He looked as proud as a bridegroom as he gently escorted her to the nearest couch, and then sat beside her. Naomi couldn't help smiling. Sometimes, her parents were just too cute together.

Grandma Rem was there, with her husband William and her children, Ranita and baby Vash. The baby was a little too small to crawl yet, though he had learned to roll. Ranita, barely three years old, was running about on her tiny feet and squealing gleefully as Milly chased her.

Tessla and Milly were only ten, but plants grew differently from ordinary humans. By human standards, they were both older and younger than they appeared. They both looked like a normal human somewhere in her middle to later teens.

Alex and Tessla prepared a homecoming dinner, and had not forgotten to include doughnuts to improve their father's mood still further. The happier Vash was, the happier Shyla would be. They wanted both to be happy, this evening.

After a pause for everyone to hug Shyla, Vash helped her to the table and they ate amid lighthearted conversation and much shared love.

After dinner, and Naomi washing the dishes, they sang some of Shyla's favorite songs. William sang bass, Vash and Alex sang tenor, Naomi and Milly sang alto, while Grandma Rem and Tessla sang soprano. Having that blend of voices available allowed for good harmony.

After singing, since Shyla also enjoyed dancing, Vash picked her up and swirled her around the room without ever letting her feet touch the ground. William and Rem made another couple, and the sisters took turns dancing with Alex.

The result was a fitting homecoming for Shyla. Not too tiring, but not too understated either.

After dancing to four songs, Rem and William gathered up their children and departed for their own house. Alex hugged everyone goodnight then went to his house. Tessla and Milly still lived with their parents, but wouldn't keep them up too late.

As she bid everyone goodnight, Naomi hoped that the private "welcome home" her father likely had planned wouldn't overtire her mother. She smiled, and left her childhood home to walk to her own small, quiet, empty home.


	7. Life Goes On

I do not own Vash, Rem or Knives: they belong to the incomparable Yasuhiro Nightow.

**Life Goes On**

Vash whistled on his way home for lunch, a broad grin on his face as he re-read the paper in his hand.

Shyla had been declared a natural resource. Sheriff Central had assigned him to permanent duty as Shyla's personal bodyguard, which suited him right down to his toes.

If they ever needed him to pursue a criminal again, then either Shyla would come with him or else he would not go. His personalized job description had been revised to make protecting her his first priority.

Naomi, Alex and Tessla had been given the same designation as their mother. It was such a huge -and welcome - difference from how he had himself been designated in his youth. Although their known strength being healing likely had a great deal to do with that.

Young Rem would be assigned to guard her twin, Naomi. Nicholas would be assigned to watch over his twin brother, Alex. Lina would be assigned to look after her younger sister, Tessla.

The cities where his children who specialized in healing were being assigned were working furiously to upgrade their infirmaries enough to match Seeds. They wanted the Plant Healers to have all needful resources available to maximize their potential.

Sheriff Central had a hand in those assignments, too. His children would be scattered at roughly equidistant points around the world, making it easier for anyone in need to reach one of them.

The only one of his ten children who still lived at home was Milly, the youngest. Vash sometimes privately suspected that his children had decided that one should stay and keep an eye on mom and dad. He always abandoned that notion as something probably coming from his goofy side. That goofy part of his personality was under-used these days, and might be trying to sneak back into prominence.

Five years had passed since Knives' death. The best he'd managed for his brother was to obtain a hair and bury it by the memorial stone in Seeds Village for "Vash the Stampede." It still troubled him that he'd been unable to do more. Unfortunately, there had been only one alternative... and there was not, nor had ever been, any way he could permit Knives to succeed in destroying his wife.

Shyla was thoroughly herself again... even to being a tough challenge when dueling her in the light-gun game. He smiled. He still had fun with that, and sometimes arranged for their duel to be _very_ private, so he could tackle her for a bit of foreplay at the end.

His smile widened as he toyed with the idea of something along those lines for this evening, until he remembered that a public dance was planned. Shyla did love dancing, and he enjoyed watching her dance. He especially liked watching her dance when he was her dance partner. Since she rarely danced with anyone else since the children had dispersed, he was likely to have that enjoyment for most of the evening.

He revised his plans accordingly, and was not disappointed with the anticipated results.

In time, he knew that the pain of Knives' death would heal. He had too many souls who loved him now. He wasn't alone, as Knives had been... and that, by his own choices. As much as Vash's soul ached when he thought of his brother, it was a relief to know that none need ever fear him again.

Knives' own choices had driven peace from his life while he lived. At least No Man's Land would enjoy more peace now that he was gone.

He opened the door to his house without knocking, and Shyla greeted him with hugs and doughnuts.

Yes, truly his life was greatly blessed. He sent up a silent prayer of thanksgiving as he closed the door behind him and covered his wife's mouth with his own.

...

...

...

...

... _continued in_ "Humans and Plants"


End file.
